


heated sheets

by catpoop



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Sex, Eden Club (Detroit: Become Human), Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Knotting, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Prostitution, Stereotyped Behaviour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:20:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24753088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catpoop/pseuds/catpoop
Summary: Hank finds himself at Eden Club one lonely night.
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 5
Kudos: 139





	heated sheets

**Author's Note:**

> first properly explicit fic ive written in a while... let me know how it went

This really isn’t his scene – the low lights, the throbbing music – but alcohol drives a man to do many things. For Hank, this usually involves his revolver. Sometimes a distracted drive around the city, which has tonight taken him _here_. ‘Eden Club’ flashes down at him in bright holographic letters as he pulls into a park and stares mutely at his dashboard. He doesn’t remember inputting a destination, or following anything aside from gut indistinct as he navigated intersections and street signs. It appears his subconscious is trying to tell him something.

He’s heard of this place, of course, through work and just the local grapevine. Eden, catering to alphas and betas alike. Known for enough shady business that the place should have been torn down a month after its opening, if not for the characters that ran the club. As Hank steps through the front entrance, patting his back pocket for his wallet, he feels somewhat guilty. No, scratch that – he definitely feels guilty.

The guilt nearly has him turning tail and driving all the way back to the comfort of his worn couch, but the smiling woman at the reception latches onto him immediately. He takes the proffered tablet, listens absent-mindedly to the cheery spiel coming from opposite, and scrolls through the panel of options. It doesn’t take him long to settle on a choice – big brown eyes and pouty lips. The omega smiles coyly from his recorded video, and Hank has already fallen, hook, line, and sinker.

His contactless payment takes a second, and then the woman is directing him to the fifth room on the left. His legs carry him down the corridor before he can stop to think about it.

Hank had been expecting a longer stretch of corridor, but it quickly expands into a wider room, beyond which he can start to see and hear evidence of other patrons in the club. Pulsing light draws him instinctually closer, but he quickly turns away, to locate his allocated room. It really isn’t his scene. He ought to leave.

He hears a raucous yell from behind him and quickly ducks his head to let the crowd pass, all the while praying for room five’s electronic lock to hurry up and let him in. The door snicks open after a fretful second. Instead of relief, all Hank feels is anxiety at the realisation that his facial or retinal data is now saved to the Eden Club databases for all eternity. He wipes at his face with clammy palms and steps inside. 

He feels the change almost instantly. 

Whatever guilt and anxiety had built up in his mind takes a backseat as Hank focuses on the omega sitting in the centre of the bed. _His_ omega, for the hour, sitting pretty in a leather collar and not much else and gazing at Hank like he’s someone important. He hasn’t had that in a long time.

“Connor?” He grunts, barely remembering the text that he had skimmed over in favour of looking at the images.

The omega nods once, stumbling a little as he rises from the bed to meet Hank halfway. His voice is a quiet lilt. “Alpha?”

“Got it in one, kiddo,” Hank says, because he is nervously trying and failing to remember how he used to pick up dates when he was many, many decades younger. 

To Connor’s credit, he only smiles sweetly. “I was waiting for you.”

“Right.”

To say Hank knows what he’s doing is really an understatement and a half, but it’s easy for him to let his body take over, even easier to let Connor lead him to the bed. He thumbs at the supple curve of his waist and marvels at the sheer _youth_. To think he was once something other than a gross old man buying sex – and then Connor noses at his collar, and Hank forces everything to one side.

Connor is wearing only a sheer set of panties, and if Hank were someone younger and fitter, he would be stripping immediately. Instead, he settles for pressing the omega against his clothed chest and using his hands to greedily map every square inch of skin. He gets a soft noise as his fingers creep lower, and Hank groans in turn.

“Already fuckin’ wet for me, goddamn.” 

“Mm,” Connor hums against his neck, and even if Hank is getting up there in years, at least his pheromones are doing _something_ for the kid. He feels the smallest burst of pride.

They stumble to the foot of the bed, where Connor falls gracefully onto his back before Hank can even give him a push. Hank follows eagerly, himself a little less graceful as he clambers onto the bed, looking as drunk as he feels. 

Connor doesn’t seem to mind – he reaches his slender arms out as Hank crawls between his splayed legs and lets out a happy noise as Hank pushes him down into the mattress. The sheets are soft under his fingers, but Connor’s skin is even softer, warm and glowing in a way that has Hank sniffing suspiciously at the slope of his neck. Connor lets him.

“Are you in heat or something?”

Connor blinks at him. “Pre-heat. My collar keeps me in it.”

At his words, Hank fiddles with the black band, tight around the base of Connor’s neck and shifting with his neck as he talks and swallows. His other hand traces idle patterns around the rosebuds of Connor’s nipples. “This thing, huh? That what this weird silver thing is for?”

He smoothes a thumb over the raised circle sitting in line with Connor’s right ear.

Connor nods once. “As a patron of Eden Club, feel free to enjoy the complimentary vials on the table. You can buy more if you wish.” He ends on a smile, one that Hank returns uncomfortably. The little spiel had not helped his libido one bit, and he wonders if anyone’s told Connor that the commercial talk isn’t really appropriate for bed. 

Still, he’s curious, and he clambers off Connor for a moment, though not without one final pinch to a nipple. The kid yelps dutifully.

The bedside table is sleek and black, and atop it sits lube and a small tray of thin tubes. Hank picks one up curiously and squints at the holographic text that unfurls from it. 

“…A sedative? What, you just get knocked the fuck out for an hour?”

That makes Connor pause, and Hank nearly misses the flicker of uncertainty on his face before it is replaced with a teasing smile. “If you would like.”

“Right.” Shaking his head, Hank places the tube down and picks up another, differently packaged one. It promises a feisty, eager omega – some kind of aphrodisiac. The next is also an aphrodisiac, and the final one another sedative. Docile and obedient, it assures, and Hank wonders how much room there is for disobedience when the omega in question is completely unconscious.

“Anyone ever tried all four of these at once?” He wonders out loud, gesturing at the vials, and the immediate shift in Connor’s expression is all the answer he needs.

“They are free for you to use, alpha,” Connor replies in non-answer. He shifts his legs across the bed, and that is enough to remind Hank what he’s here for. He leaves the vials – they seem suspect at best and illegal at worst, and Hank will have to… think about it. Maybe next time.

Despite the brief pause, Connor is quick to melt back into his embrace as Hank pulls him close once more.

“Who needs aphrodisiacs,” he mutters, eyes mapping the freckles on Connor’s pale torso down to his legs. Hank tugs at the edge of his panties. “Just look at you.”

“Thank you, alpha.” Connor replies far too calmly for the situation – all the blood in Hank’s body is throbbing in his face or dick or damn _heart_ as he tugs the waistband lower and spots another mole by the neatly-trimmed patch of hair. 

He thumbs at it, then bends to press a kiss to it, for good measure. The whiskers on his cheek brush against the soft chub of Connor’s dick, and the kid makes a cute noise.

“Gonna suck your dick,” Hank mumbles. Normally, he’d phrase it in such a way as to ask for consent, but he supposes this is a… unique occasion. Regardless, he takes Connor’s soft ‘oh’ as agreement.

The omega has been at half-mast this whole time, dick not yet peeking out of his underwear, but it quickly fills out as Hank takes it into his mouth and laves at it with his tongue. He lets his throat relax, letting muscle memory take over even as he wracks his brain to remember the last time he was going down on someone this pretty. 

A louder voice in Hank’s brain tells him to focus on the present and he shakes himself. Right. Dick in mouth. Whining omega. 

Connor is small enough that Hank can take him entirely into his mouth with ease, nose pressed against his groin until the omega starts to squirm. Hank swallows around him and gets a broken cry.

He’s easy enough to hold down by the hips, and Hank wraps one hand around the sharp jut of a hipbone while the other cushions the plush curve of his ass. He tugs Connor closer to his end of the bed and jolts when his fingers make contact with a dripping wetness. In his eagerness, Hank had forgotten – even if just for a minute, but what kind of alpha is _that_ absent-minded?

He growls at himself, and the vibration carries down Connor’s dick, making the kid jolt even before Hank’s fingers find his hole. 

“Ah –”

He’s warm and wet inside, twitching when Hank seeks out his prostate and rubs at his inner walls. More slick drips out as Hank pushes his fingers deeper, to join the quickly growing wet spot on the bed. It’s the most beautiful sight he’s seen in a long time, and it must say something about him as a celibate divorcee that the second thought to cross his mind is whether the kid ever gets dehydrated. Can’t be fun being in pre-heat all the time.

Connor’s tortured groan doesn’t give him any indications either way.

Hank pulls off after one last suck, letting his fingers slip out simultaneously. The kid doesn’t have time to whine in disappointment before Hank’s grabbing at his waist with both hands.

“C’mon, up.”

“Huh?” Connor looks as dazed as he sounds.

“Up on all fours, now.”

Hank helps him up half the way, chuckling at the way Connor scrambles to get his arms and legs underneath him as Hank turns him onto his front. His thighs quiver as Hank gives his rear a solid slap, before carrying into the rest of his body a moment later when Hank returns with a condom and slides into his waiting hole. He appreciatively studies the way Connor’s back immediately arches into a deep curve.

“Fuck that’s big…” The omega gasps into the mattress, and because Hank’s a simple man, his dick immediately gives an answering twitch.

“Bet you say that to all the guys,” Hank rumbles. But he’s in agreement about one thing, at least – Connor’s like a vice around his dick and he has to exercise all of his willpower to stop from rutting into the kid like a teenager. He eases himself in another inch.

“No, you’re –” Connor swallows, “real big.”

It’s as good enough a compliment as any, Hank supposes. And he has been rather deprived of them of late.

“Well. Thank you.”

Connor lets out a breathless laugh. It cuts off with a moan as Hank bottoms out, open fly pressing against the bare skin of Connor’s ass in a way that has to be uncomfortable. With the last of his remaining rational thought, Hank shimmies his pants down to pool at his ankles before replacing his hands around the narrow dip of Connor’s waist. It shifts under his palms as the kid sucks in an inhale.

“You good?” Hank asks stupidly, though he really ought to be asking himself that. He really ought to be fucking the whore under him. His first thrust is met with a high keen.

“Mm!” That answers his question.

The kid is still tight around him, but he slowly loosens up as Hank fucks the slick back into him, walls trembling as Hank finds a steady rhythm. 

“How do y’all feel about knotting?” Hank voices the thought aloud, panting just a little. The last thing he’d knotted had been… his hand, Hank recalls. He’s unsure if that counts.

“Ah – clients don’t usually ask, ask this many questions,” Connor huffs into the bed. “You can – mm – knot me if you want. Alpha.” He tacks on like an afterthought. 

Kid probably has a manual on how to please alphas in that head of his, Hank thinks. He gives Connor’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. He’s pleased this alpha plenty, and it has barely been ten minutes. Not that Hank is ever good at keeping track of the time when he’s got this much alcohol in his veins. He hopes they’ll kick him out of the room when his time’s up, as opposed to charging him for snoozing the night away. 

Because he can predict how the rest of the hour’s gonna go – he’s not young anymore, and the whisky’s done him no favours – he’s going to shoot his load in record time, before spending the next forty minutes cuddling up to Connor and pretending the kid’s someone more important to him. 

Hank groans under his breath, and to his credit, Connor responds immediately. He gives his ass a shake and clenches down, _hard_. Hank groans again, for an entirely different reason.

The kid peers over his shoulder at him, eyes big and captivating. “Let me suck your dick. Before you knot.”

Well. Hank can’t exactly say no to that. He slips out with a wet noise, and dumbly stands there with his dick fisted in one hand until Connor can crawl up to him.

“You can fuck my throat,” he smiles, before licking up his own slick from the condom and taking Hank into his mouth. He bobs downwards in one movement, until Hank feels the tight ring of his throat around the tip of his dick and thrusts his hips on reflex. The choking sound Connor makes isn’t nearly as terrifying as it would be if he hadn’t given Hank any warning.

“Fuck, kid…”

Connor smiles again, around his dick, and lets his eyes shutter closed as Hank reaches a hand into his hair. 

Predictably, he doesn’t make it far down Connor’s throat before the urge to knot is getting _real_ big, and Hank has to pull away from that talented tongue, hooking a thumb into the corner of his mouth when Connor pushes forwards with a whine. He gets a suck to his thumb for that.

“Are you going to knot me now?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Hank tugs at his hips even as Connor shifts around on the bed. “Gonna fill you right up.”

“Mm.” 

Connor stretches languidly as Hank finds that spot inside him once again, starting up a furious pace as he chases after the one thing he had come here for. Hank’s just an alpha with needs – he’ll go back to the liquor tomorrow, he promises himself.

The base of his cock is starting to swell, and he feels Connor spasm around him with each aborted thrust. Hears him, too, panting a litany of moans as he throws his head back. His chest heaves, as breathless as Hank feels, and Hank reaches up to pinch one nipple. He gets a half-squawk half-moan and laughs at the pout that forms on Connor’s face.

“Hah – cute.” 

His hips start to stutter as he nears the edge, and the omega looks to be the same way, desperately fucking his fist with a dazed expression on his face. The bright red head of his dick twitches when Hank thumbs at it, and a second touch is enough for Connor to tip his head back in a wail, thrashing and squeezing around Hank as he empties onto his belly. Hank comes a second later.

And with that, it feels like a switch has been flipped. Panting and holding back the urge to just completely collapse on top of the kid, Hank eases himself onto the bed. He holds Connor flush against his chest as he settles into a supine position.

“Fuck, that was good.”

He feels a nod against his chest. “Mm-hm.”

“God, I’m getting come all over my shirt, aren’t I?”

Another nod. Hank sighs. 

He feels a bit more light-headed now, lying down, but the warm weight on his chest keeps him anchored in the moment. He strokes a tired hand down the curve of Connor’s back and stares up at the ceiling.

“This must be a slow night for you, huh?”

“What do you mean?” Connor answers after a pause.

Hank waves his free hand in the air. “Spend ten minutes getting fucked by some old asshole before lying here for the next fifty minutes?”

“Oh.” He feels movement, and looks down to see Connor tip his head up to make eye contact with him. “It was twenty minutes, and I don’t mind.”

Forty minutes, then. It doesn’t boost Hank’s ego one bit. “Right.”

He’s not too sure what to say next – at this time of night, the only small talk he’s usually making is with convenience store clerks. He lets his hand drift lower, to the crease of Connor’s ass.

“You ever had any worse customers?” Hank asks, toying with the slick rim of his ass.

He feels the kid shiver. “Of course. Not all of them are as nice as you, alpha.”

“Right,” Hank huffs. “And their dicks aren’t as big either, huh?”

“Nope.”

The bed’s pretty comfortable, and the room warmed to a temperature that the cooling sweat on his skin isn’t uncomfortably chilly. Hank could fall asleep right here, if not for the self-consciousness looming at the front of his mind.

“C’mon, tell me more about the weirdest customer you’ve gotten. We’ve got forty minutes to spare, after all.”

“Um.” Connor shifts. Hank feels his hands press against his chest. “Client confidentiality?”

Hank arches a brow at the ceiling. “Really?”

“Mm-hm.” He sounds timid, but Hank doesn’t really feel like arguing with someone who could squeeze his dick off at any moment. “Can we just lie here?”

The ceiling sparkles down at him, and if Hank focuses he can hear the distant thump of bass coming from beyond the door. But aside from that, he can almost relax completely.

“Uh. Sure, I guess. You’ve got to wake me up when my time’s up, though.”

“Of course.”

The kid is like a butterfly on his chest, and it’s no hardship for Hank to remain lying there like a pillow, arm slung over Connor’s waist as he just lets himself – breathe. Connor hardly makes a sound either, even with the dick up his ass.

He’s not drunk enough for this – or maybe not sober enough, if the frequency with which Hank has to remind himself of whom he’s lying with is any indication. He stares up at the ceiling, sighs once more, and lets himself close his eyes and properly sink into the fantasy.

**Author's Note:**

> yes this is not the most IC connor bc i wrote this with my dick Only  
> was also meaning to elaborate on the situation more but kind of stuttered to a natural halt
> 
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